Her Forbidden Irish Warrior (The Legendary Warriors #4)

Prologue

If Balor ó Phelan didn’t find his little brother by nightfall, Fergus was going to murder him.

The boy was barely seven years old—well past the age he should have been fostered with another family to strengthen alliance ties—and Kenneth had slipped outside the ringfort again.

His brother loved exploring, and he was small enough to wander out unnoticed.

Though Balor was only eleven, he blamed himself.

He’d been distracted by chores, and he’d mistakenly believed their mother was watching the boy.

But Orla hardly paid attention to anything anymore.

She was lost in her own thoughts while her husband spoke with his council.

As the newest chieftain of the ó Phelan tribe, Fergus was eager to prove himself strong and unyielding. Punishments were meted out swiftly, and Balor had borne the brunt of the man’s temper more than once.

Truthfully, Fergus probably wouldn’t care if he walked out and never returned. Balor wasn’t the beloved son, like Kenneth was. He was the mistake—the reason why his mother cried at night and the reason why Fergus had despised him for every single one of Balor’s years of existence.

For the chieftain wasn’t the man who had sired him. Orla had been violated by a Norman soldier, and Balor was the result. Every time Fergus glanced at Balor’s face, it brought back those terrible memories.

He would have welcomed the chance to be fostered elsewhere, but Fergus had never bothered to arrange it. Instead, it seemed that the chieftain preferred to keep him here, where Balor would face punishments for every minor infraction.

Although he understood the chieftain’s hatred, there were days when Balor wished he’d been born to any family except theirs.

He’d been the result of violence, not the cause.

But no one could see beyond that except Kenneth.

The boy didn’t perceive a tainted bloodline—only an older brother he delighted in ordering around.

But Balor didn’t care—he’d gladly die to defend Kenneth.

Balor didn’t truly know how his mother felt about him. There were times when Orla looked upon him with sadness, and other times when she looked away quickly, as though she couldn’t bear to see his face.

But Orla didn’t seem to have noticed that her younger son was missing.

And so Balor picked up a sack of grain, hiding his face as he joined a group of serfs walking outside the wooden gate.

There wasn’t much time before the sun set, but he knew a few places where Kenneth liked to hide in the forest. Balor studied the ground, searching for footsteps that were smaller than the others—anything to help him find his brother’s path.

He needed to bring the boy home before Fergus discovered it and sounded an alert. If he could get his brother safely back inside the ringfort before nightfall, that was all that mattered. It was a vain hope to imagine that no one would notice the two of them were missing, but Balor clung to it.

He dropped the sack of grain into a wagon and followed the narrow path down the hillside.

The grasses were dead, coated with frost. Balor clutched his threadbare cloak as a frigid wind tore through the thin fabric, a few snowflakes drifting in the air.

The earth was hard beneath his feet, and worry knotted in his gut that Kenneth could freeze to death or be easy prey for the wolves.

But Balor locked away the useless emotions, determined to find his brother first. He wouldn’t stop walking until he brought Kenneth home, even if it grew dark.

When he reached the forest, he listened. That was the first lesson he’d learned when he’d eavesdropped among the hunters. Stop moving, listen to the sounds of the forest, and be patient.

But there was only silence. Which was probably a good thing.

Balor continued walking, his gaze searching for any movement, anything that could reveal his brother’s presence. He continued through the forest for at least a mile, even knowing that it was too far for Kenneth to walk. His heart sank. Where was he? Had someone taken him?

The path ended at the top of Amadán, overlooking a narrow road that led towards Laochre Castle.

From this distance, he could see the gleaming limestone walls that guarded the king’s fortress.

At the bottom of the hill, a group of riders passed by on horseback.

Balor stopped for a moment and sat on the edge of the hill, shielding his eyes.

The dying sunlight rimmed the horizon in a blaze of gold and red, but there was enough light that he recognized them—it was the MacEgans.

Not the king, but it looked like one of the brothers and his wife.

Behind them, two young girls rode side by side, and Balor couldn’t stop himself from staring at them.

They wore brightly colored clothing and were chattering to one another.

It wasn’t the quiet wealth in their demeanour that caught his attention. No, it was the way their parents drew back their horses and smiled at the children. The MacEgan warrior reached down and ruffled the youngest girl’s dark braid with affection, and she laughed at him.

The ache in his chest was a dull blade, reminding him that he wasn’t like them. His father would never care for him in that way, and that was the envy that swallowed him whole.

The older girl spied him watching at the top of the hill and leaned in to tell the younger girl.

When she turned to look at him, Balor stood, realizing that he’d been wasting time when he should have been searching the forest. It didn’t matter that they’d noticed him.

But the dark-haired girl smiled at him and lifted her hand in a wave.

It was the last thing he’d ever expected.

For a moment, Balor gaped at her before his hand jerked up in an answering wave.

By the blood of Danu, he felt like the greatest fool in all of éireann.

Why had he waved back at her? She was a nobleman’s daughter.

Their lives were so different from his, as distant as the sun from the earth.

They rode away, and it only heightened his embarrassment and loneliness. Most likely, he’d never see them again. If he had been the respected son of a nobleman, he might have been friends with the girls, for the MacEgans didn’t live far away at all.

But he was the son of a Norman invader. Not the trueborn son of a chieftain, the way Kenneth was. Balor knew his place.

He turned back to the forest to walk away, suppressing every emotion.

It was better not to feel anything at all.

Dead leaves crunched beneath his feet as he traveled back over the frosted ground.

Now the snowflakes were beginning to fall in a regular pattern, and his worry increased.

His brother couldn’t survive a night outside in the snow.

Finally, he called out to his brother. ‘Kenneth, where are you?’

He walked farther, hurrying through the woods as he raised his voice. ‘Kenneth!’

Balor was starting to worry that his brother hadn’t kept to the path. What if he wasn’t here at all? He’d been so certain he could find the boy.

With every step, his dread increased. He called out, no longer caring if anyone else heard him.

The last of the sunlight was dying, and he began to run back towards the ó Phelan ringfort of Dunmalus.

Panic turned his stomach rancid, and his blood chilled when he saw the flare of torches and a gathering of his father’s men.

Balor cursed to himself, knowing what that meant. He slowed his pace near the edge of the forest, trying to decide whether to reveal himself.

Before he could take another step, he heard a sniffling sound through the trees. He tracked the sound to a sprawling oak tree with branches the size of his waist. When he glanced up, he saw his little brother hugging a large limb.

He didn’t bother asking what Kenneth was doing in the tree—it was clear that he’d been climbing and wasn’t strong enough to get down. Balor easily caught the lower branch and swung himself up, climbing towards the young boy.

Kenneth was openly crying, his arms shaking as he clung to the branch. The moment he saw Balor, his sobbing grew louder.

‘It’s all right,’ he told his brother. ‘I’ll help you down.’

‘I’m scared,’ Kenneth cried.

‘I’m going to come to you. When I do, you’ll let go of the branch and hold on to me,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe.’

‘I wanted to be a bear,’ Kenneth cried. ‘Bears live in trees.’

Balor inched his way across the heavy limb. ‘No, they don’t. They live in caves.’

‘I want to be a bear who l-lives in a tree,’ his brother wailed.

‘Well, you can’t.’ Balor reached out and took the boy around the waist, pulling Kenneth’s arms off the branch and around his neck. ‘Hold on as tight as you can. Don’t let go.’

His brother squeezed him so fiercely, it was hard to breathe, but Balor moved towards the main trunk. It was difficult to move with his brother gripping him in front, but he eased his leg off the branch, holding on to a lower branch as he brought them both down.

His brother’s tears dampened his throat, but he didn’t mind much. ‘I love you, Balor.’

‘I love you, too,’ he muttered, the ache inside deepening. No one else had ever said the words to him except Kenneth. And for that reason, he would do anything for the boy.

At last, his feet touched the ground, and Balor let go of the lowest branch. He could have set Kenneth down to walk, but he continued holding him. The scent of leaves and winter clung to his brother as Balor carried him back home.

But his footsteps turned heavy when the men saw him returning. Balor slowed down, not wanting to face what lay ahead. Instead, he tried to distance himself, wondering more about the dark-haired girl and her family. He thought of her smile and the unexpected wave.

When he reached the men, Fergus’s expression held a quiet rage. ‘So, you found him, did you?’

Balor lowered his brother to the ground, and the boy ran to his father. Fergus embraced Kenneth a moment before he said, ‘Go to your mother, my son. She’ll have food for you. You’re hungry, aren’t you?’

Kenneth’s head bobbed in agreement.

‘Go on, then,’ Fergus urged. Balor started to follow, but the chieftain blocked his path. ‘Not you. There won’t be food for you.’ The sneer on the man’s face was as familiar as his fists.

Balor raised his chin and squared his shoulders, meeting Fergus’s gaze. Despite his own raging hunger, it was a familiar punishment. He nodded obedience, and just as he turned away, pain exploded against his cheek as Fergus struck him.

‘He’s a child. Were you hoping he would die outside?’

‘I was trying to find him—’ he started to say.

‘Liar.’ Fergus landed another blow to his stomach, and Balor doubled over in pain.

As the beating continued, a quiet rage began to bloom within him.

He’d done nothing to deserve this life. Fergus might despise him, but one day, Balor vowed he would get his revenge.

He would bide his time and grow up to become the man Fergus feared—a man of strength.

A man who would stop at nothing to gain vengeance against his enemy.

And a man who wouldn’t stop until he ended Fergus’s reign for good.